


it's easy to get wrapped up in the madness

by HannahPelham



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: F/M, Probably very OOC, hotbox has taken over all my senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 04:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahPelham/pseuds/HannahPelham
Summary: Estelle Ferry is being blackmailed into murder by an anonymous gang, and for some reason she thinks Ronnie Box is the man to save her.Title from 'Prologue' by Catch 22





	it's easy to get wrapped up in the madness

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably very OOC and for that I apologise, this is my first attempt at writing anything Morse!

When Estelle Ferry walked up to Detective Chief Inspector Ronnie Box in a pub on New Year’s Eve 1969, he thought she was a prostitute. 

 

“Detective Chief Inspector” She whispered, sitting down opposite him, “I need your help”

 

“Help, darlin’?” Box replied, eyeing the woman with suspicion, “and it’s just DI these days”

 

“You’re still CID, yes?” Estelle asked. 

 

“I am. What can I help you with Miss…?”

 

“Estelle Ferry. I’m being blackmailed into murder” She said simply. Box’s eyebrows raised so far so fast he thought they might fly off his face. Estelle took a big gulp of her pint. 

 

“And you think I’m the man to help you? Didn’t you hear?”

 

“I did. That’s why you’re the man to help” She said, matter of factly, “Whoever is doing this to me, and don’t ask me who because I don’t know, wouldn’t suspect a potentially dirty pig such as yourself, would they?”

 

It was clear to Ronnie that she didn’t take any prisoners. She looked like a bit of a bitch, pale skin, black hair, red lips, but there was a sadness and doubt in her eyes that Ronnie recognised from looking at himself in the mirror. 

 

“Will you help me, DI Box?”

 

The clock struck midnight. The new decade began. 

 

“I will, Miss Ferry. Now, it’s a new year. Can I buy you a drink to start it off right?”

 

Estelle Ferry walked into Castle Gate CID the next morning at Ronnie Box’s side. Morse, Thursday, and Strange all looked at each other. 

 

“And this is, Box?” Thursday asked, looking at the man whom he had replaced after the ‘incident’ with Jago. 

 

“Estelle Ferry. She’d like to confess to seven murders” Box replied, smirking at Estelle. 

 

“I think you’d better explain, Miss Ferry” Thursday said as he walked into his office, and gestured for Estelle to take a seat. 

 

“Let’s start at the beginning, DCI Thursday” Estelle said as Morse sat at his desk, ready to take notes, “I got involved with a gang member about 10 years ago in London. I left him and moved to Oxford to make a new start. I thought I’d managed to shake him off, get out of that kind of life”

 

Box stared into space, listening to what Estelle was saying. He couldn’t believe she was saying this so calmly now, when she’d cried it all out on his shoulder just a few hours before in his flat. Perhaps that was why. She’d said it to a Policeman once, she could do it again. Thursday nodded, both encouraging her to carry on, and reassuring her that she was alright now. 

 

“About a year ago, I got an anonymous parcel in the post. It contained a gun, ammunition, and a note telling me that I had to kill a man called James Oakes or they would come and kill me”

 

“And you did it?” Morse asked. 

 

“Not at first. Of course I hesitated, I know I look like an assassin from an Ian Fleming novel but I never wanted to do it, any of them” Estelle replied, tears beginning to pool in her eyes. She looked over at Ronnie, who smiled weakly at her. 

 

“Did you receive threats when you hesitated?” Thursday asked, trying to get some more information out of her before she broke completely. He already felt like he’d have to go to Bright and see what the procedure for murder under blackmail would be. 

 

“A few written ones, and then they sent somebody to my house” She replied, taking a handkerchief from her handbag to dap at the tears.

 

“Address?” Morse asked quickly from the corner. He wanted to get as much down as he could, so searches could start straight away. It didn’t take a genius to see this was a physically and emotionally abused woman who needed to be helped. 

 

“47 Cranham Street, Jericho” Estelle responded, turning to smile at the Sergeant in the corner briefly. 

 

“What did this man do?”

 

“Beat me up. Threatened to, um, well, you know, if I didn’t do it, which is enough to make any woman do anything, so I did it. The day after.” Estelle admitted. This broke her resolve, and she burst into tears. 

 

Fred Thursday had always thought his daughter had a knack of turning up at the wrong moment, but this was the right one. She walked into his office, saw the crying woman, and quickly put her arm around her. 

 

“Dad! Name?” She whispered.

 

“Estelle Ferry. Abused and tortured into murder” Fred replied. Joan nodded. 

 

“Hello Miss Ferry, I’m Joan. I’m DCI Thursday’s daughter. I’ll look after you, don’t you worry” She almost crooned as she led Estelle out of Thursday’s office and through the incident room to somewhere Estelle could calm down. 

 

“Where the bloody hell did you find her?” Thursday asked once the women were safely out of earshot. 

 

“She sat down at my table in the pub last night and asked for my help. Happy new year, by the way” Box replied. He walked out of Thursday’s office and almost instantly slammed the door of his. None of CID had seen Box rattled like this before, though they did all reason amongst themselves that the last time they’d really seen Box was when he himself was being blackmailed by DS Jago. Perhaps that was why. He’d been blackmailed into doing things he didn’t want to do. He’d killed somebody (a dirty cop, and he’d gotten away with it), but he knew how she felt. 

 

Estelle thanked Joan Thursday for the cup of tea she’d been given, and sat back in her chair. It wasn’t the comfiest chair, but it would do. 

 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, Miss Thursday” Estelle said, looking over at the young woman sat next to her, “but I would very much like to have a friend through it”

 

“Then I’m your friend, Estelle. God knows you’re going to need one. They’ll sort it out though, Dad and Morse and Box. They know what they’re doing” Joan replied, smiling at her. 

 

“I bloody hope so, Joan. I bloody hope so”

 

Their corner of peace and quiet in the busy police station was quickly disturbed by Strange, deemed the most diplomatic and nicest to interrupt, calling Estelle back to Thursday’s office. 

 

“Miss Ferry, do you have somewhere safe to stay tonight? Your house and belongings have been classified evidence for now” Morse asked as she sat down at the desk once again. 

 

“No, I don’t, I don’t real--” Estelle started. She didn’t know anybody in Oxford. After she’d gotten involved in all this business, she’d kept herself to herself. 

 

“She can stay with me” Joan interrupted. 

 

“Joan…” Thursday pleaded. He didn’t particularly want his daughter getting involved in a case this closely. 

 

“Dad, I have a spare bedroom in my flat. She can stay there until all this has blown over, or for as long as it’s safe. Let me do this, please”

 

DCI Thursday sighed. It was times like these he wished he didn’t have such a strong willed daughter. He nodded, and sighed as Joan once again led the woman in black from his office. He watched as Box led them out of CID, and gave Estelle a slip of paper as she left. He wondered why Estelle had gone to Box in a pub rather than calling the police. He knew, of course, that it was because Box was generally viewed as dirty and that wouldn’t create a shred of doubt in her abuser’s mind that she was doing something against their wishes, but it seemed strange nonetheless. Plus, he wondered what had gone on between Box and Miss Ferry in between meeting in the pub and arriving at CID in the morning. He didn’t know if he trusted Box, but he was being good to this woman, which helped him go up a little bit in Fred’s estimation. 

 

Estelle sat on Joan’s sofa, in a pair of her pyjamas, watching the younger woman make a cup of tea. 

 

“Why are you being so nice to me, Joan?” She asked, out of the blue. 

 

“Because you’re trapped, and I was trapped too once” Joan replied, handing her a mug, “Mine wasn’t nearly as bad as yours, but I know what it’s like to be in a bad situation and feel like you have absolutely no way out”

 

Estelle smiled weakly. She felt like she had found a kindred spirit in Joan, and she was glad for the company. It stopped her wallowing in guilt on her own, for a start. She turned the piece of paper from Box over in her hands. The night before, she’d ended up in his bed, and she’d loved it. For some reason, she felt safe with him. She contemplated calling him, but decided not to. She didn’t want to risk getting herself involved with somebody like him. If and when she was convicted for what she’d done, it wouldn’t do for her to be involved like that with a Policeman. Especially not one who was already thought dirty. 

 

Estelle walked into Castle Gate police station the next morning, wearing some clothes she’d borrowed from Joan. A secretary was about to show her to CID, when DI Box appeared. 

 

“Sleep well, Miss Ferry?” He asked as they walked through the station to the incident room. 

 

“Not particularly, brain couldn’t shut off” She replied, smiling up at him. He smiled back, and led her into Thursday’s office. 

 

“Good morning, Miss Ferry. Are you ready to go over some more details?” Thursday asked as the young woman sat down opposite him. She nodded, and carried on her story from the day before. 

 

“After all the hesitation and what happened the first time, I didn’t wait so long the second time. That was William Vaughan. I know nothing about these men, or what they’d done to whoever is asking me to do this, but I knew what was going to happen if I didn’t do it” Estelle started, feeling more composed than she had been the day before. She’d gotten past the hard bit, the initial admission of what she’d done. 

 

“You said there were seven, yes?” Thursday asked. Estelle smiled sadly at him. 

 

“Yes, James Oakes, William Vaughan, Nicholas Neville, Thomas Blair, Patrick Mackey, Kiri Harrison, and Sophia Ward” she replied. She closed her eyes as she heard Morse scratch down the names in his notebook. 

 

“William Vaughan was the only one I didn’t hesitate with. The rest of them, I had to be abused into. They beat me, tied me up, waterboarded me, raped me, anything you can think of short of killing me, they did” Estelle continued. Box felt like he was going to be sick. He’d seen the scars on Estelle’s body when they’d had sex, the night they met, but he hadn’t pondered how she came to have them before now. 

 

“Are there scars? As evidence?” Thursday asked, feeling dirty for asking such a question. He knew he had to ask it, but he didn’t have to like asking it. 

 

“Yes. I can get Joan to take some photos tonight, if that helps” 

 

“It would” Thursday replied, “thank you”.

 

Box felt more and more sick as Estelle explained what had happened to her, what awful parcels and threats she’d received in the post (a nose, with a note saying that’s how she’d end up if she didn’t kill Thomas Blair), and what she’d had to do. She was halfway through describing the second time they’d tied her up and beaten her, when a secretary arrived with a letter. 

 

“A letter for Miss Ferry, sir” She said as she handed the letter to Box. They all looked at each other. She opened it with trepidation, her hands shaking uncontrollably. 

 

_ We know what you’re doing _

 

_ 28 Bridge Street _

 

_ Bring your pig boyfriend _

 

She read the letter out, looking at Box. Had they been seen in the pub, lips locked and hands wandering?

 

“Pig boyfriend?” Morse asked, unaware of what had happened between Box and Estelle on the night they’d met. 

 

“DI Box, Sergeant Morse” Estelle replied, unable to say much more. She could hardly move. She was shaking, her breathing shallow. Thursday gestured for Morse to go and prep the CID team on what they were about to do. Estelle and Box were going to do to 28 Bridge Street, and Morse and Thursday would be waiting around the corner, plain clothes police officers in the street. This was probably going to be their best chance at finding whoever was behind this, and they didn’t want to cock it up. Thursday left the room to assist Morse, and to organise things, and to leave Box and Estelle in peace to talk. 

 

“Can you do this?” Box asked, kneeling in front of Estelle’s chair. If any of the team at CID had walked in at that moment, they would hardly have recognised the tender, caring man as DI Box. 

 

“I don’t know. We have to try, right?” Estelle replied, leaning forward to kiss Box quickly. 

 

“We have to try, yes” Box whispered, slightly flustered, “you can trust me, Estelle”

 

“I know Ronnie, and I do”

 

When DCI Thursday and DS Morse entered 28 Bridge Street a few hours later, they found a badly beaten Box trying to help an almost dead Estelle. Morse ran and called an ambulance from the squad car, whilst Thursday and the rest of the team arrested the men standing proudly over their handywork. They didn’t care that they’d been caught. They’d gotten what they wanted out of it, they’d hurt Estelle to a degree where her survival wasn’t guaranteed. Soon, they were almost thrown into the backs of squad cars, and Estelle was wheeled into an ambulance, Box refusing to leave her side. 

 

DI Ronnie Box had never felt this strongly about a woman before. Despite the fact he’d only spent a few days in her company, he felt himself drawn, almost bound, to her. He wanted to protect her, he wanted to help her recover, and he wanted her to trust again. He wanted her to trust him. He wanted her to love him. He knew she potentially had a jail sentence coming, but he didn’t care. He’d be there every step of the way for her. 

 

Estelle was charged with the seven murders she’d committed, but a benevolent jury had found her not guilty on grounds of abuse and torture. 

 

When he’d been released from hospital, Estelle was still lying in a bed, unconscious. Box kept a constant vigil, occasionally going home to shower or change clothes, but he spent the majority of his time at her bedside. As he’d watched them beat her within an inch of her life, he knew he loved her. He’d seen and done some brutal things in his time, but this hurt him more than he thought he could hurt. He wanted to kill everyone who’d done this to her, but he wouldn’t for her sake. 

 

When she finally woke, Box was encouraged that she felt the same about him. 

 

“Ronnie” she groaned quietly as she came to, weeks after the attack. His name was the first thing she said, and that’s all the encouragement he needed. 

 

“I’m here, love, you’re alright” he replied, kissing her hand gently. She smiled as much as she could at him, and they knew everything would be alright. 

 

On Box’s first day back at work (again) a few weeks later, he was surprised to see Estelle being brought in a wheelchair to see him, with Joan Thursday pushing her. She was wheeled into his office before he could even say hello. 

 

“I was so bored of that bloody hospital” She said bluntly, lighting a cigarette with the lighter that lived on the desk. 

 

“I’m not surprised, love. They released you proper or just for the day?” Box replied, leaning back in his chair. His office was fairly grim, and she certainly brightened up the place. 

 

“They’ve released me proper. Not sure where I’ll go” Estelle mused quietly, trying to drop a hint to Ronnie. 

 

“My place. It’s our place now, darlin’” He replied, picking up on the hint she’d dropped (for once). She smiled at him, and knew everything was okay. Everything was okay, and it would be okay as long as Ronnie was around. 

 

* * *

 

 

Ronnie awoke to the sound of Estelle’s screaming. This was a fairly frequent occurrence in the Box household, even five years on. Ronnie turned over to see Estelle pressing her face into her pillow, her eyes (though closed) streaming with tears. He did what he always did, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned her over, pulling her face away from the pillow. He laid his head down right next to hers and began to whisper in her ear. 

 

“Shh shh shh you’re alright, love. You’re alright. You’re at home, with me. I’m here, darlin’, everything is okay”

 

As it always did, this stopped her screaming, and she woke with a start. She sat up, and looked around to see where Ronnie was. 

 

“Sorry, Ronnie” she whispered. It was always the same phrase. She hardly ever called him Ronnie anymore. He was always love or darling or twat or oi you, but hardly ever Ronnie. 

 

“It’s alright love” he replied, pulling her down so she was in his arms, “I promise you, you’re safe with me”. 


End file.
